Overrated
by shimmer-light
Summary: Sum. change: A darker take on what can happen when one has a destined mate. A mate is not something everyone wishes for. Finding your mate is when you loose your choices. What if someone wants that choice for themselves? If they would fight for it to the bitter end? Slash! Special pairing
1. Chapter 1

Hello! I'm back! Finally! I'm so sorry for disappearing the way I did, but honestly? RL is a b&! ! As you probably noticed (well duh LoL), I have started up a new story. The others are on an indefinite length of hiatus. The circumstances will be better explained on my profile, if you're interested to know.

As for the actual matter at hand; this story, like the others I have written, is probably - definitely ::cough:: - going to be slash. So if that's not your cuppa', then go easy on yourself and leave, before you catch some rare disease targeting the minds of unsuspecting hetero-lovers. You have been warned!

For all the rest of you, who remained despite my dire warning, here's a little preview of what you can look forward to:

Violence, angst, and all sorts of other tags the 'mature' label is known and loved for. I will give warnings at the beginnings of each chapter to come. My warning for the first chappie: violence, angst and a mild reference to molestation of a minor. There is no rape, and there probably won't be either.

And the pairing? I'm telling you guys nuffin', except that I have something very special in mind. Here's a hint: it's neither Moldy-Pants, nor Draco. In fact it' none of the usual you can think about.

**I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not making any money by writing this. It's all in good fun!**

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Chapter 1

"He wants WHAT?" Harry's voice boomed through the empty house with startling force. As soon as the shout left his throat he flinched, clamping his mouth shut. Even if he was lucky enough his Aunt and Uncle were away with their precious Diddy-Dumms, the neighbors would still inform the Dursleys of anything out of place that happened in their absence. And howling like an animal loud enough for the street to hear definitely fell in that category.

The letter he had been reading was crumpled in his shaking fist. He was tempted to throw it out the wide-open window, if only to relieve some stress. But the damn bars Uncle Vernon saw fit to reattach would prevent that small respite as well. The rush that came with his temper waned in his helplessness to do anything. His legs buckled as he slumped onto the tattered remains of the mattress covering the cot he used as a bed. The metal frame swayed under the sudden weight.

Why was he in this situation? Why? Back in this hellhole of normalcy, yet again. And Sirius, his only true ally, was... gone... No, he was not going to think about that. But he had to wonder if any of this would have happened if his godfather was still alive. Definitely not.

He had begged Dumbledore like a kicked dog to reconsider sending him back to his so-called family. He tried every year, even if the act proved futile. He had to at least put some effort forth. Naturally, the old goat gave the same act of a disappointed grandfather every effing time. Acting as if Harry was some wayward child throwing a tantrum in the face of the wise decisions the adults made for him. It did not matter how he reasoned with the headmaster, meekly informing him of the treatment he received at home. He told him about his living conditions, showed him his first Hogwarts letter addressed to the cupboard, recounted the details of his everyday chores, the starvation, the beatings, and the man still had the gall to act like he was exaggerating or lying. But Harry knew better now. Did Dumbledore think he was stupid? After learning of _legilimency_ and _occlumency_, knowing the coot was a fucking master of the arts, did he think Harry would be stupid enough not to connect the dots? He could, and probably did, verify every single word that left Harry's mouth. Not to mention that Snape had to have reported all the juicy details of their lessons together.

He snapped out of his revery when a rustling sound drew his attention to the old desk shoved into the opposite corner of the room. Fawkes trilled at him softly, as if asking what the matter was. Harry glared at the bird in half-hearted annoyance, snorting at his presence. Of course Dumbledore's familiar would be asked to deliver the letter. No owl could get through the bars on his window. The first two times one tried to deliver something, Harry wasn't able to untie the packages as there was not enough space between the upgraded bars to stick his hand out. Poor Hedwig was cooped up in the room right along with him, and Harry could see the toll the lack of movement and food was taking on her. He turned back to Fawkes, who was also eyeing the caged owl beside him on top of the desk.

"How about you make yourself useful and bring her something to eat?" he asked in a somewhat nasty tone.

Fawkes trilled at him and disappeared in a cloud of flames. **_Well, that went well._** Harry smiled at the white bird. She hooted at him in answer. As they waited for the Phoenix to return, Harry lifted the crumpled piece of parchment, eyeing it with an uncharacteristic sneer on his face. He hardly knew more than the first few lines, and he was debating wether reading it would hold any benefits, or if a wandless _Incendio_ would better deal with the matter at hand. In the end, he decided that with the luck he had, the letter may even state that lack of an answer would mean his compliance with the contents. With a sigh, Harry smoothed the parchment out on his lap and began to read.

_Harry, my dear boy,_

_It has come to the attention of the Order after the reading of Sirius Black's will, that the estate we have been using as Headquarters has been left to you in its entirety. This, of course, is no surprise, however unforeseen circumstances force me to ask you; please consider giving up this right in light of the information I am about to divulge_.

Harry growled, and nearly tore the parchment to shreds in his renewed wrath. How dare they? Or better said; how dare Dumbledore? It was not even the shameless request from the old man that angered him the most. More than that, the fact that the reading of his Godfather's will had clearly taken place without his presence was what he could not stand. How could they deny him this? They had no right! And what about Gringotts? The goblins should have been obligated to make sure he was present. Maybe one of the owls he was unable to get to had been sent by them? But even if that was the case, when they saw he had not received the letter should they have not made certain for him to get the invitation through other means?

Something was clearly not right. This was official business, even laws had been broken. Harry was missing something, he knew it. Goblins loved their money too much to ignore the repercussions of not keeping with the Ministry's guidelines. What on earth was going on? In any case, he had to focus. Perhaps Dumbledore's letter would shed some light on the circumstances, although he was not holding much hope. Then again, the Headmaster regularly underestimated Harry's intelligence enough to let telling details slip from time to time.

_As you may have already known, ever since the Order started using Grimmauld Place, I have been appointed as a secret keeper with the casting of the Fidelius Charm on the property. This, however, changed as the previous owner died. With every other right associated with the estate, including all wards, the Fidelius has also 'changed owners'. You have become the secret keeper, which - as you may understand - is rather inconvenient at the present. Alas, dear boy, this is easily rectified, so you have naught to worry about. With your permission, I would take over this burden from you until you come off age as you turn 17. With my letter I included the form you should sign to allow me to ease your mind on the matter._

_Now, with this unpleasant talk out of the way, I am happy to inform you that we are already working on a plan to relocate you to Headquarters after your birthday. Please be ready to move out during the 1st of July. We have not yet been able to decide the exact time, so be sure to be packed the night before. Take care my dear boy, and I will see you in two weeks._

_Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin; First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Grand Sorcerer._

"That presumptuous old asshole!" Harry muttered with venom. Even he himself was a little surprised at the pure hatred in his voice directed at the Headmaster. Yes, he could not trust the coot to have his well-being close at heart, but did he really deserve such low regard from him? He was trying to win a war here, he naturally had to make sacrifices for anything to be achieved. But why was it always Harry who got the shortest stick in the stack?

Perhaps his subconscious knew better though; Dumbledore was nothing but a good actor. He had no regard for the people around him, not a shred of compassion for the lives he kept ruining to get his ends. Just look at poor Professor Lupin! He kept sending the poor man on missions to convince the werewolves to fight for their cause, disregarding the fact that the light side had made no moves - not after the previous war, and not now - to make their lives less of a hell than before. And Lupin was an outcast from their circles already; how did Dumbledore consider it to be a good idea to send him to his bloodthirsty brethren, only to come back every time no more than a mangled mess, barely escaping with his life intact? He knew this kept happening during the previous school-year from Professor Lupin's rare letters. The man always attempted to skim over the situation, but Harry was not stupid. He could damn well read between the lines.

And really? Did Dumbledore honestly expect him to sign over his inheritance without a second thought? Sirius's legacy? Fat chance! Could they not simply alter the _Fidelius_, or even recast it? And the gall of that goat, as if he'd jump at the chance to be rid of the 'burden' Sirius left him with!

Thinking about it, another small detail registered - if a little late - in his mind. If he, Harry, was the secret keeper, did that mean the Order was unable to get into the house? Harry chuckled out loud. Of course! How ironic. He could imagine the panic about what to do sweeping through the Order like a tide. All the precious information they collected was stored somewhere in the house, not to mention Kreatcher was at large, doing who knows what at Grimmauld. Come to think of it, was the crazy house elf now not his as well?

The sudden return of Fawkes jolted Harry out of his musings. The beautiful bird trilled at him, and dropped a dead mouse on the table with a wet plop. Harry immediately stood and walked over, examining the limp and bloody rodent with distaste. Hedwig hooted at his expression in indignation, and he smiled at her in apology. He nodded at the Phoenix, the curt gesture drawing an answering trill from the bird, and plucked the prey off the hard surface. He opened the owl-cage and presented Hedwig with the first real meal she had since they arrived at Privet Drive. The meager amount of food he got and was able to share with her was hardly enough to satisfy her hunger.

Hedwig tore into the mouse with gusto, sending Harry grateful hoots between beak-fulls of meat. He masked his grimace of distaste with a grin, and turned back to his bed, where the crumpled letter and the envelope lay. Though he had no intention to sign anything, he was still curious to know what the document the Headmaster referred to contained. So he sat down on the mattress, ignoring the ominous creeks beneath him, and took the envelope in hand. He quickly got the remaining parchment out, unfolding it and settling back to read.

It was basically what the damn goat already said; a contract permitting Dumbledore to handle the inheritance he received till Harry came off age. It did contain some interesting new information though. Dumbledore, it seemed, was his legal magical guardian. Which was not exactly a shock, but quite useful to know for certain. It would be even more useful to know what that position entailed, but beggars can't be choosers.

Harry glanced at Fawkes thoughtfully, who cocked his head at him in question. He did not say anything, instead stood again to bend under the cot, moving the loose floorboard to get to the small storage space it revealed. He fished out a roll of fresh parchment he managed to secret away before the Dursleys locked his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, intended for the essays he was required to complete during the summer. He knew what the assignments were, and had already read through some of the material during the train-ride home, so he could at least start on a few of them. The rest would have to be left until he managed to get out from under his family's thumb at last. A quill and a small pot of ink followed soon after, and with all the necessary supplies ready, he moved back to the desk, Dumbledore's mail also clutched in his hand carrying the parchment. Fawkes relocated without having to be told to the back of the chair after Harry pulled it over to sit on. He had to stop himself from glaring at the bird again. It was no fault of Fawkes's what his owner did, but it was hard not to take out his frustrations on such a convenient target.

"... A small fire would be useful right now." he said with a grumble, waving the contract between them. The Phoenix squawked coughing out a spark. Harry stared at him with disbelief, and laughed a moment later. "Again, please? That was kind of sudden." He held the official looking parchment up, waiting for another cough. Soon enough, Fawkes spat a new spark, and Harry watched the contract catching fire in fascination. It burned fast, and he jumped up, dropping it into the empty metal bin in his room with haste, before it could scald him. He watched it turn to ashes, the fire dying immediately after with nowhere left to spread.

Harry turned to Fawkes after the show was over, and the bird trilled proudly at his accomplishment.

"Well, thanks, I guess." He stepped over to stroke the glistening feathers. A beaked head leaned over to nudge his hand with affection. How could he remain hateful after that? Harry sighed, petting the head in apology for his earlier behavior.

"How am I supposed to write this?" he asked himself. He could not be outright rude. The Headmaster was a headache enough when he believed they were on good terms. If he realized his personal golden boy was not half as ignorant and naive as he believed, especially after the scene he had made in his office the last time they had met after Sirius died, he could turn Harry's life into more of a nightmare than it already was. A legal guardian could certainly have a good amount of say in what he did, even if he was not yet sure exactly how much. If only he could go to Gringotts... A great deal of his questions could be answered. But there was no way to get out of the house without the wards alerting the Order of his intentions, and they would be there in a heartbeat to stop him.

Who was he kidding anyway? He could not even get out of his damn room without magic, thanks to the dozens of locks on the door, which he definitely did not have at his disposal, unless he was prepared to deal with the Ministry accusing him of violating their 'underage' laws. After Dobby's little stunt in his second year, and the accident with aunt Marge, it could have disastrous consequences. But the point was; there was no way to get out (or in, thank Merlin) without getting discovered first, promptly landing him back in his prison with an even smaller chance to escape in the future with the Order's guard up...

Wait a minute! Dobby! The house elf managed to pass the wards just fine, so their magic had to be somewhat different to allow them to apparate anywhere they wanted. And though he could not call Dobby, as the energetic elf was not his, per se, he might be able to summon Kreatcher if his suspicions about the elf's ownership changing with Grimmauld Place were correct. He may get out of here yet! Harry was tempted to do his happy-dance, but he decided against it when he spied Fawkes watching his jaw-splitting grin in interest.

"It seems I will be sending you back without an answer after all." he told the Phoenix, not even attempting to look sorry about it. "Kreatcher!" he called loudly, holding his breath in anticipation. A loud crack disturbed the silence, and Harry laughed in relief. He turned to the creature that kept muttering obscenities under it's breath.

"Filthy half-blood, calling Keatcher to this disgusting place, inhabited by disgusting muggles. What could he want from Kreatcher? Poor Mistress, what would she say? The Noble House of Black tainted by filth! How disgraceful, for Kreatcher to be forced to obey the blood-traitor! Kreatcher must, even if he doesn't want to! Oh, what would Mistress say? How disappointed she would be!"

"Hello, Kreatcher." Harry said with a grin.

"The half-blood filth greeted Kreatcher. But Kreatcher hates him, he does. What does he want?"

Harry was too happy to get annoyed at the usual insults. "Kreatcher, can you apparate me out of here?"

"He asks if Kreatcher can take him out of the filthy muggle house. But Kreatcher doesn't understand. Why can't the blood-traitor go out? Kreatcher felt the wards, he did, and there was nothing there to prevent him from leaving." the house elf muttered with a confused look on his wrinkled face.

"Never mind that." Harry said, loosing some of his patience. "Can you, are can you not apparate me out?"

The small elf looked scandalized. "Of course Kreatcher can do that! Filthy muggle-lover, is he saying Kreatcher is a bad elf?"

"No, I just wanted to know if it was possible or not." he said, getting frustrated. "And could you stop insulting me? My name is Harry, and I would appreciate it if you started using it."

"Fil-" The elf looked constipated. "_Master Harry_, where would he want Kreatcher to take him?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the near-slip, while cackling madly on the inside with the beginning of the idea that was forming in his mind. "Tell me, can the Order get into Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh, no they can't! The mudbloods and blood-traitors have finally left! Mistress was so happy when Kreatcher told her the vermin tainting her halls were gone!" he said with a dreamy expression, that looked... wrong on his face. But Harry didn't care. This was what he had been hoping for! With him as the secret keeper, no one could get into the house without him expressly telling them where it was, even if the previous one - Dumbledore - allowed them. The old coot himself wasn't permitted inside anymore! Ha!

"Kreatcher, please go get my belongings from the cupboard bellow the stairs. Bring them up here, okay? And don't use magic, except to apparate, or the Ministry will be alerted." The elf headed for the door. "The door is locked, that's why I told you to apparate." Harry said in exasperation. Fawkes trilled at him questioningly, but he paid the bird no mind. "Unless you can get the trunk in through the cat flap, not to mention picking the lock to the cupboard without magic, I'd advise you to just pop there directly."

Kreatcher threw Harry a contemptuous look, but did as he was told, disappearing and reappearing within seconds accompanied by two distinct cracks. Harry dove under the bed, and placed all the items he hid beneath the floorboard unto the mattress. First came his wand, followed by his invisibility cloak, his album, more parchment, and lastly a plastic bottle half-full of water that he usually refilled whenever he had a chance, hiding it so the Dursleys would not discover it. One could live without food for quite some time, but dehidratation killed you quickly.

Harry scrambled up after emptying and resealing the small compartment, opening the trunk Kreatcher brought with him and depositing every item, except for his wand and the bottle, inside. Just as he placed the folded cloak on the very top, he heard the front door slamming shut.

**_How didn't I hear them arrive?_** Harry thought in a panic. The car parking in the driveway should have alerted him to his family's arrival. He glanced around the room, shaking at the prospect of Uncle Vernon finding a Phoenix and a house elf there, let alone his trunk that was supposed to be locked away. He stuffed his wand under the dirty pillow on the cot, slamming his trunk shut.

"Kreatcher, can you take this to Grimmauld Place? And be ready to come for me and Hedwig when I call! Hurry!" The old elf disappeared with the trunk, grumbling under his breath, but obeying nonetheless. He then turned to Fawkes, who kept eyeing him steadily. "What are you waiting for? Go!" The Phoenix trilled in a confused manner, but finally decided to go along with his wishes just as Harry heard the first heavy steps on the stairs indicating someone, most likely Vernon or Dudley, were coming to check on him.

Harry slumped into his chair, waiting for the door to open. He could not let the Dursleys catch onto what was going on. The Order would undoubtedly interrogate them about his disappearance. Them catching sight of Kreatcher would be a disaster in the making. Dumbledore would immediately know where he was, which was the last thing he wanted, _Fidelius_ or no. And Phoenix or not, Fawkes was a bird, he could not tell Dumbledore about his plans, which was lucky.

Harry waited for his door to unlock with baited breath, the jingling behind it letting him know it was nearly time. As the last heavy lock fell to the floor in the hallway, the door slammed open to reveal a sneering Dudley.

"We're home, freak. Mom says to cook dinner, and maybe she'll let you have some later." his cousin said, trotting off to his own room with all the grace of a baby mammoth. Probably wanting to check on his computer or something. Harry silently made his way out, casting a cursory glance around his room for anything incriminating, before stepping on the stairs. Once he reached the bottom, his Aunt's horse-like visage materialized from behind the living room's entrance.

"After you finished cooking, unpack and take care of the laundry. That awful smell of wet dogs drives me crazy." she said, sniffing in distaste. They have visited Aunt Marge for the weekend, and Petunia always made him wash all of their clothes after such an occasion, no matter if they wore them or not. So Harry only nodded, heading for the kitchen.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." he murmured as he passed her by. She grunted, and disappeared back into the living room, the television announcing the evening news was about to begin. Harry tried to listen, the muggles hopefully reporting any weird or unexplainable occurrences. He prepared their meal with dull eyes, not hearing anything of interest. Why on earth were George Clooney's dating habits even reported? People all over the world were starving, getting killed, and other innumerable things kept happening they could have focused on, but they chose a celebrity's sex-life as the breaking news? Sometimes Harry thought he could actually understand why Voldemort lost faith in humanity. The Wizarding World was not much better either. Humans were humans, no matter where you looked.

By the time the weather was mentioned, the meat and potatoes were already sizzling away in the oven merrily, so Harry left the kitchen to start the washing machine with the first set of clothes he unpacked from the suitcases left by the door. He had already poured in the detergent and shut the lid, when Dudley's holler from above made him jump.

"Mom, dad, look what I found on the freak's bed!"

**_Shit!_** Harry thought. _**He found my wand! Shit!**_

Dudley's thundering footsteps made their way downstairs, and he ran into the living room his parents occupied. Harry, meanwhile, was frozen in place. He hardly dared to breathe.

"What is it, Diddy Darling?"

"Look mom!"

"What is this?" boomed out Vernon. "Boy! Get over here this instant!"

Harry gulped, but he knew it was better to obey than to postpone the inevitable while also making his Uncle angrier. So he took apprehensive steps, time seeming to slow as he got ever nearer to Vernon. At long last, he stood in front of the purple face, waiting for what was to happen.

"How dare you steal from us?" he burst out, spittle flying from his mouth. Harry stared at him in confusion. _**What is he talking about?**_ His last thought was answered when Vernon waved a bottle of water near his face menacingly. **_The water? They were talking about the water? Thank Merlin! Dudley didn't find the wand after all! It was safe!_** However, that didn't mean his situation was not dire. In fact, it was really-really bad. No matter how he looked at it, getting caught having food or drink he was not supposed to have was one of the worst mistakes one could commit in the Dursley household, second only to the freakishness that was prone to happen whenever Harry was around.

"He was hiding it in his blanket!" Dudley piped up proudly.

Vernon glanced at his son, but turned right back on Harry when he shifted in unease. "So you now steal from us as well? Ungrateful brat! We should have taken you to an orphanage the day we found you on our doorstep! After everything we've done for you, is this how you thank us?" The walrus of a man grabbed Harry's skinny arm, dragging him toward the stairs. The spectacled boy winced at the harsh grip. When they reached Harry's room, Vernon was panting from exertion, his beady eyes glaring daggers at his captive. With a mighty heave, he threw Harry across the floor, and the boy yelped as his knees connected with the aged wood.

"You little shit!" He reached down to fist Harry's hair, pulling him up by the unruly locks. "You will regret stealing from us!" The sentence was punctuated with meaty knuckles slamming into Harry's chin. The world spun from the force of the blow. Another was delivered soon after, and Harry felt his lower lip tearing open, blood dribbling from the wound. "Did you think you were entitled to anything you want? As if you were family? Don't make me laugh boy! No one would want a freak like you! Even that criminal Godfather of yours left you, didn't he? It was from the goodness of our heart we took you in, despite your freakish nature! Ungrateful little shit!" A knee in his stomach. "And after all we did, you dare threaten us with your murderer freak relation?"

**_Oh, back to the usual._** Harry thought. And he had the precious Order to thank for his treatment getting worse than ever. Telling Vernon that Sirius was dead was the damn reason for the violence escalating this far. How he despised them for taking away his last measure of security in this God-awful situation they forced upon him in the first place, year after year!

Harry was tossed back to the ground, a swift kick to his abdomen making him curl into a ball in self-defense. But it didn't stop, Vernon's heavy feet delivering kick after kick wherever the man managed to land them. His Uncle crouched down beside him, the landing of actual blows seemingly more satisfying than simply kicking his nephew. Harry almost let himself sigh in relief when the fists started loosing strength; Vernon was finally tiring. The punches were getting softer and softer.

When it stopped, Harry was too sore and scared to move. He could hear his Uncle panting behind him, and he could not help but to let out a soft groan of pain when he drew his legs closer to his body unconsciously. Vernon shifted behind him, and Harry stilled. A sweaty palm was placed upon his bruised back, and Harry held his breath in confused fright. The disgusting appendage trailed down his spine, stopping just above his buttocks. The boy flinched away, despite the pain, and Vernon growled before he got to his feet.

"This is not over, freak!" he said, stomping out, and slamming the door shut. Harry never in his life felt so scared before.

Making certain his Uncle was safely downstairs, well out of hearing range, he got to his knees weakly. He crawled over to his cot, fishing out his wand from under the pillow. With that done, he made his way toward Hedwig, who kept hooting at him gently.

"Kreatcher!" he croaked, the cage with his owl inside squeezed to his chest. The elf popped into the room.

"Fil- Master Harry called Kreatcher, and Kreatcher came. Should Kreatcher be taking him to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?" he asked, not batting an eyelid at Harry's sorry state.

"Yes, I would appreciate that." Harry wanted to get away. Anywhere was better! He wanted to be as far away from his Uncle and the weird vibes he got from the man as possible.

Kreatcher stretched his hand toward the boy sitting on the floor, and as he touched him, Harry felt himself being apparated out, away from Privet Drive. He would never see the place again, if he had any say in the matter.

The two arrived in the dark entrance hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Harry found himself face to face with Sirius's sceptic looking mother. The painting sneered down at him reproachfully.

"Just when I was rid of that disgraceful gaggle of muggle-lovers, I get saddled with a weak half-blood for an heir. Tainting our noble line with your filth! The Black name is in ruins!"

Harry ignored the harpy in favor of talking to Kreatcher.

"Take me to a clean room with a bed, please, and let Hedwig out to hunt. Then bring something to eat and drink, if there's any food in the house." The elf looked disgruntled, but obeyed. Harry promptly found himself on a bed in a room decorated with Chudley Chanon posters all over the wall. He was quite positive this was Ron's before the Order had gotten forced out with Sirius's will coming into effect. The house elf opened a window, popping away without further ado, and Harry opened the cage for his owl, so she could fly out for a much-needed hunt.

Placing the cage on the floor beside the bed, he eased himself onto his stomach, doing his best to ignore the pain. Perhaps he could ask Kreatcher if there were any potions left behind by the previous residents? He could do with a pain reliever, if nothing else. He could only hope nothing was broken, although going by the feel of his ribs, one or two were cracked for sure.

Nothing but the promise of food kept him conscious long enough for the elf to come back. The hateful creature deposited a tray filled with sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice on the bedside table. He bowed at the boy with evident reluctance, and disappeared to do whatever he usually did in the dark house. Counting cockroaches maybe? Harry did not want to think about it.

He dug into the haphazardly prepared meal with gusto. He noted that they didn't taste as bad as they looked, they were only sandwiches after all, if a tad plain. The ravenous boy finished it all within a span of a few minutes, gulping down the pumpkin juice right after. He fell into a fitful, pain-filled sleep on top of the covers mere seconds after his throbbing head hit the pillows.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey folks, as you may notice, I changed the summary for the story. The reason for this is that the previous one was just too vague to fit the fic, and the language I used was probably also out of place, considering the tone I took when writing it. Sorry about that, but I really wasn't paying all that much attention to it when I got to publishing. So... since I now decided to use my brain for something other than floating it around in my skull, the summary had to be updated. That's all there really is to it.

Warnings for this chapter: Harry angsting away. Oh, and the potty language! I always forget to mention that.

**Important**! Don't skip the dream in the beginning. As nonsensical as it is, it's there because it needs to be.

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Chapter 2

_"I want new shoelaces!" cried the small snitch, sporting a large red nose. It kept circling around his head in agitation. Harry stared at it in confusion._

_"But you don't have any shoes." he said._

_"But I want shoelaces! One purple and one black one!"_

_"You don't even have legs!"_

_"Shut up!"_

_Harry gaped at the angry little thing._

_"Give me my shoelaces!"_

_"I don't have any!" he shouted. True enough, when he glanced down at his feet hanging off the broom, they definitely appeared bare._

_"Then you'll have to die!" All of a sudden, the snitch transformed into a gigantic, grinning bludger, wearing a mustache that looked like Uncle Vernon's. It flew at him, and Harry cried out in pain as it kept hitting him over and over again. He clung to his broom desperately. When the assault stopped, Harry opened his eyes, only to see a flock of birds flying towards him. He squinted at them as they got closer. They didn't look like birds. In fact, they reminded him eerily of fingers. Before he could make up his mind about what to do, the fingers descended upon him, crawling all over his body, making him shudder in revulsion. He screamed when the squirming digits wriggled their way under his clothes._

_"Stop it! Stop! Please!" he begged._

_"Ssh." A voice said. It sounded deep, almost like a growl, but Harry felt strangely comforted. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, brushing off the disgusting fingers. "Sleep."_

* * *

Harry jolted awake with a start, scanning the room for the source of his disturbance. His right hand was already busy searching for his glasses on the nightstand. When the metal frame came into contact with his fingers, he snatched it up, shoving it upon his nose. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the drawn curtains above the window. Members of the Chudley Chanons waved at him in greeting from their posters on the wall. **_Ron's room,_** he thought. **_Right_**.

A light series of taps drew his attention back to the window. Harry sat up with a yawn, making his way over to check what was making the noise. The open curtain revealed none other than Hedwig, staring at him through the glass reproachfully. Harry opened the window, and she flew inside to perch on top of a nearby chair in front of a desk.

"Sorry girl." Harry said in a soothing tone. "I suppose Kreatcher closed the window after I fell asleep. I'll tell him not to do that again."

The owl hooted her annoyance, but she appeared placated for the time being.

"Did you have a good hunt?"

An affirmative hoot. Harry smiled at his familiar, happy for her sake as well that they managed to get away from the Dursleys. Hedwig had been getting dangerously week since they left Hogwarts.

"I'm going down for some breakfast. I'll see if the Order had any owl treats stashed away somewhere, okay?" She blinked at him, as if saying 'Do you even have to ask?' With his next course of action thus decided, Harry looked around the room, spotting his shoes at the foot of the bed. When did he take them off anyway? He shrugged, pulling them on his feet without bothering to tie the laces, leaving them to hang loose.

He shuffled out into the corridor, moving down the stairs in a daze. He stopped to stretch at the bottom, his new-found freedom to do as he wished making him feel amazing. Come to think about it... He felt good. Too good, when one considered the beating he received not even a full day ago. Nothing hurt. Why didn't he hurt? His fast healing was always an ability that he prized, but this was ridiculous! It was impossible to recover cracked ribs, among other things, this fast! Potions, perhaps? But who would give him potions when he was supposed to be alone? Kreatcher? That was more ridiculous than anything he thought up so far. Especially considering he fell unconscious before he even had a chance to ask for a pain reliever.

Harry continued on his way with much more caution than he started out with. Something was amiss, and the hairs on his back stood on end because of it. Not that Harry had all that much hair on his back - he really didn't have any, if one wanted to be technical about it - but he still felt the chill down his spine. As he neared the kitchen, soft rustling and an occasional clatter could be heard. Harry tiptoed the last few steps, peeking around the heavy wooden door that was cracked open slightly. It was enough of an opening to see what he was looking for though, as he spied Kreatcher ruffling through a cabinet below the sink, muttering something under his breath every now and then.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. His paranoia was getting the better of him. But who could really blame him? Being paranoid, in his experience, was the one thing that might just save him from the sticky situations he regularly found himself facing. All in all, he had to conclude that paranoia was his tool of survival, and thus was not something he wanted to be rid of.

"Good morning, Kreatcher."

The weathered house elf jumped, casting him a panicked glance, as he began stuffing everything on the floor back into the cabinet. Harry saw trinkets and books among the mess, and he could have sworn they were things that the Order had gotten rid of during the last summer. So Kreatcher still managed to keep them this long? Harry had to admire his tenacity, if nothing else. Mrs. Weasley was a woman on a mission, and for the elf to be able to ward her off for this long was quite a feet.

"Don't worry, I don't plan on throwing anything else out still in the house. You can keep them, just take care that they don't harm either you or me. All right?"

Kreatcher blinked his huge watery eyes at him in incomprehension. "Master Harry is letting Kreatcher keep his treasures?" he asked in disbelief.

Harry nodded, but quickly amended what he meant. "You can have anything you like, just please ask me about it first. This does not include clothes." he added. The last thing he needed was a free house elf that held knowledge of not only his whereabouts, but secrets of the Order as well. "You are also only to obey me and me alone, understood? You are not allowed to share any information about me or the Order directly or indirectly, with anyone. And you are to tell me the truth if I ask something." Did he leave out anything? Harry supposed that covered the basics.

"And Master Harry will not throw away Kreatcher's treasures?" the elf asked again in awe. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes.

"No, just tell me what you want to take, so I know about it."

The elf blinked, and broke out in a toothy smile.

"What does Master Harry want? He came to the kitchen, he did."

That was easy. Harry thought. Who knew that was all it would take to win the crazy creature over?

"I wanted to ask if you healed me last night. I was pretty surprised in the morning."

"Kreatcher brought potions for Master Harry at night. Kreatcher knows where the nasty mudbloods keep their things."

Harry knew he had forgotten something. "Please stop insulting my friends, too." Even if the term could only be used loosely. But he did have some friends among those who frequented Grimmauld, and he disliked anyone being called such names, so the order had to suffice. Kreatcher appeared grumpier than before, but he bowed to show he understood. "Anyway, thank you for helping me. I really appreciate it." It was hard to believe Kreatcher had done this for him without him having to ask, but Harry was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The remainder of the morning was spent with Kreatcher fighting Harry tooth and nail whenever he attempted to do something the elf considered to be 'not Master Harry's job'. He was herby banned from cooking his own meals, from cleaning up dishes, and even from getting a glass of water for himself. Harry was growing frustrated with nothing to do. He was currently sitting by the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee the elf had shoved in front of him.

"Kreatcher?" he called when an idea struck him.

"Yes Master Harry?"

"Do you know where the Order keeps their documents and stuff?"

The elf blinked at him with empty eyes.

"Like parchments and maps they use during meetings." he clarified.

Kreatcher nodded his head. With a snap of his fingers a cupboard above the counter was levitated away from the wall, revealing a plain patch of white wall behind it. It was considerably cleaner than the rest of the room. Harry could actually call it white, instead of just knowing that's what the color should have originally been. The elf beckoned him over.

"Master Harry should use his wand to draw a circle here." He pointed at the middle of the bare space.

Harry hesitated. "Isn't that as good as performing magic? I don't want the Ministry picking up on it and expelling me from school."

Kreatcher sniffed at Harry's train of thought in disdain. "The Black family is one of the most old and noble families in the Wizarding World, Master Harry. All properties are warded. No one would be able to pick up on anything happening inside the house, especially not that filthy Ministry!" he spat. "Good for nothing gang of blood-traitors they are. Not even worthy to lick Mistress' shoes." he added in a mutter. Harry decided to leave him to it. After all, Kreatcher did what he had asked of him. He was not insulting neither him, nor his friends. And if Harry was to be honest, the Ministry was not exactly in his good graces either.

He stepped closer to the place the cupboard used to hang from, taking his wand in hand from the back of his pocket. He drew a slow circle in the spot Kreatcher had indicated with the tip of the slender piece of wood, and leaned back to watch the wall disintegrate following the path of his wand, then branching out, leaving a large opening behind. When he peeked inside, he found a collection of scrolls and books arranged in neat order. He grinned to himself, and levitated everything he found onto the kitchen table. Using his magic felt so good! He wished he had known he could do so during the previous summer. It would have made things so much easier.

With every item now spread out before him, Harry didn't know where to begin. There were no titles on them, nothing to mark any as 'Top Secret' to make a convenient starting point. So he sat down, grabbing the closest thing in reach, which happened to be a small black book. He opened the cover, skipping the first page, and the next. It was empty. As he inspected the rest of the book, every damn page proved to be the same; blank. Harry placed it to the side, reaching for a scroll to his left. He unrolled it and could not stifle the disappointed groan that left his throat when he saw it was as empty of information as the book had been. A baseless hope spurred him on to open nearly half of the pile, but as he suspected, each and every single one was as blank as the rest.

A whoosh of breath signaled him giving up. He glared at the assembled information he could not access for a few moments, as if the power of his stare would somehow become the key to unlock the secrets they held. He cursed Dumbledore anew for being so over-cautious, he would encrypt their information in a house protected by the friggin' _Fidelius_. As his eye-power proved quite ineffective in making any progress, he was forced to concede defeat for the time being. He would have to figure out a way later to break the protections. In the meantime however, Harry wanted a bath. More accurately, he _needed_ a bath.

He got to his feet, casting a last longing look at the items on the table before he moved out of the kitchen, telling Kreatcher he was heading back up, and that he should leave everything from the cupboard where it currently it was. He stomped up the stairs, slamming the en-suite bathroom door in his room shut in a fit of temper.

**_That bastard_**! he thought, as he watched his sullen expression in the mirror above the sink. He placed his wand and glasses on the small shelf that probably used to serve as a holder for various hygiene potions, tore off his ruined shirt and moved away to turn the tap on, water filling the tub slowly. Steam rose in the enclosed room, and he stripped down completely before sitting on the rim of the claw-footed monstrosity. How the Blacks managed to make even the tub look menacing, he would never know. At least it served its purpose without trying to drown people who used it.

Harry kicked the water angrily. Nowadays, Dumbledore - the mere thought of the goat - could upset him like that, no matter how irrational the reason may have been. Harry's rage at him was fueled by his disillusionment, and it seemed that no matter what the coot did or had done, Harry saw it in a negative light ever since. The prophecy coming to light was somewhat of a breaking point. Up until that awful night, Harry had always attempted to make excuses for his misdeeds, going as far as to justify his half-baked explanations as to why he kept sending an obviously abused boy right back to his tormentors without so much as a hint of remorse. Every. Fucking. Year.

The icing on the cake, so to speak, had been when despite telling Harry he would have to be the one to kill Voldemort, Dumbledore still had the gall to send him away into isolation without a shred of information. Or a future plan. Nada. Was he trying to make Harry feel responsible for the lives lost during his inactivity? The man was forcing him into a position where guilt at not doing whatever was necessary to get rid of the threat was eating him alive. Even though he realized it was not his fault, that he was practically a prisoner with Dumbledore as his warden, it still tore at him in the last weeks to sit at home while a war - his war - was knocking on the Wizarding World's doorstep.

But the old man would not break him. Harry was now free to do what needed to be done, with the first step being to gather information that has been denied to him. He was not a tool to be used. It was his name on that prophecy, not Dumbledore's, no matter how much the old man may have wished it otherwise. It was not a farfetched conclusion to make that the goat probably wanted the 'glory' to himself for defeating, or leading to the defeat of yet another dark lord that threatened the magical community. Harry could not care less for the adoration and savior nonsense the people showered him with, but he did care for the world and innocence of children as a whole. He would not let a madman destroy all that made the world worth living in. After Harry was done, he didn't give a rat's ass who got the credit. Actually, he would be positively gleeful to thrust the attention he would receive, if he survived at all, onto someone else's more willing shoulders. But he couldn't deny that he felt spiteful enough not to let it be the old man, just out of principle.

When the tub was full, Harry slipped into the warm water, relaxing back against the side. It felt so good to let go, and he felt the anger draining out, leaving him more tired than anything else. He so rarely got the privilege of an actual bath, it was calming in its novelty. Especially with the Dursleys; he was happy when he got to shower at all. A hot bath would have been unthinkable. However, now was not the time to laze around. A lot of things needed to be done and plans had to be made.

First thing on his list was to figure out the key to unlock all the Order's documents. He was sure there was a library somewhere at Grimmauld. He would research spells that could have been used to enchant parchments not to show anything until one knew how to activate them. After all, the Marauder's Map also had a similar function, and that had been made by fifth year school boys, so it could not be that difficult to break. He would check for possible curses that could come into effect if he gave the wrong password when he tried, or if there were other ways to lift the enchantments without bumbling around the dark with possible phrases or words the Order could have used.

Harry also resolved to go to Gringotts. And now that he gave it some thought, it would be better to go there sooner, rather than later. It was unwise to tempt fates by drawing out his excursion to Diagon Alley until someone noticed his disappearance and made an effort to track him. The chance of discovery right now was extremely low compared to what it would be in a few days. It would also be beneficial to learn some of the answers to his questions about his status as Dumbledore's ward among other things, before planning anything further.

With this in mind, Harry resolved to go that very day, despite his desire to get into the Order's secrets about the Death Eaters' and Voldemort's movements as quickly as possible. He grabbed a bar of soap, scrubbing down the accumulated grime and dried blood, closely followed by a thorough shampooing of his hair, finally unplugging the drain before he changed his mind and remained in the blissful state of being cocooned in warmth any further. He got out of the bath and rubbed himself dry, wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing his wand and glasses. He stepped out of the bathroom.

Harry very nearly got a heart attack when he found a rather unexpected sight behind the door. There in his room, looking as if he had all the right in the world to be there, was Fawkes. Harry's wand was pointed at the bird without conscious movement on his part, and he glowered at the trespasser.

"Fawkes?" he asked, incredulous.

Harry was desperately trying to work out how it was possible for the bird to be there. Were Phoenixes immune to the _Fidelius_? Or had he accidentally mentioned the correct address of Grimmauld Place during the day before? Harry didn't think he did, at least he hoped he was not that stupid.

Fawkes trilled at him in greeting, not seeming to care for the panic he was causing his host with his presence. In the meantime, Harry was already working on his escape plan in case the Phoenix decided to flame away with him, delivering Harry into Dumbledore's clutches.

"I'm not going back to the Dursleys!" he snarled with ample amount of venom. "You and your owner can go to hell!" Harry backed away toward the doorway. What was he going to do? He could floo away to Diagon or something, but there was no good place to hide there. Not to mention he was sure to draw some unwanted attention, seeing as he was clothed in nothing but a bath towel.

Fawkes cocked his head at him, trilling a few reassuring notes. He didn't move from his perch on the back of the chair either. Harry eyed him in distrust. He wanted to get away, but honestly? He had nowhere to go. Every other place that came to mind, the Order would find him within a few hours at the best. The fight slowly seeped out of him, leaving him to bow his head in resignation.

"You can't take me back there." he whispered in desperation. He glanced at Fawkes pleadingly. The bird didn't move, just continued to watch the human. "Please don't take me back."

Fawkes - very slowly - inclined his head. Harry didn't dare to believe his eyes. Was he letting him stay? Dumbledore's pet bird was actually letting him go?

"You aren't taking me away?" he asked, his tone bordering on hopeful. Fawkes bowed his head again, more firm than before. A small smile stretched across Harry's features. "Really?" The Phoenix stared at him in what he deciphered to be exasperation. A short chirp of acquisence, and Harry let the full-fledged grin he had been holding back show on his face.

"Thank you!" he said with glee. He danced over to the chair to stoke the beautiful gold feathers on Fawkes's back in a show of gratitude. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn the Phoenix was laughing at his antics. "Thank you! Really! You have no idea how much this means to me. I promise to pay you back somehow!" he rambled while continuing to pet Fawkes's back. "And I won't tell Dumbledore you helped me. I'm sure he wouldn't be too happy with you if he knew..." No Dumbledore would definitely not like this turn of events. And even though Harry couldn't understand why the coot's trusted Phoenix was helping him instead of his own master, Harry was too relieved to care for the reason.

Eventually, he decided it was time to get dressed, so he opened his trunk to take out a clean set of clothes and headed back to the bathroom to change. He studied himself in the mirror with a critical gaze. If he wanted to go to Gringotts today, he would have to disguise himself. If someone recognized him, news would reach the Order in no time. First, he had to do something about his clothes. His scruffy appearance was somewhat of a trademark by now, thanks to his family's loving care, so he decided to transfigure them into a plain black cloak with a white button down shirt and black pants underneath. The spell would only hold for a few hours, but it would be enough for now. Maybe he would buy something at Madam Malkin's if he had the time.

As for his face, the glasses had to go. However, he was blind as a bat without them, so in the end Harry settled with simply changing the frames. It was amazing how that small amendment could transform his features. The now square glasses turned out to suit him a great deal better than the garish old design. He even looked a little handsome, if he may say so himself.

Next order of business was the famous Potter hair. Disguising that mess would be hard, but Harry wasn't about to give up. After much trial and error, he grew it out a few inches, leaving it at a length where instead of strands sticking out in all directions, the locks gave way to gravitation, and they hung in messy curls around his cheeks. He left the bangs at the perfect length to cover his scar. Nodding at the mirror in satisfaction, he exited the bathroom, finding Fawkes in the same spot he left him in. Hedwig was still sleeping in her cage.

"I'm heading out for a while. Maybe it would be best if you went back now. I'm not sure how long this is going to take." Harry stroked the soft feathers on his head. "But really, thank you. I'm sorry for the trouble I'm causing. Letting me stay here is a lifesaver though." Fawkes nipped at his fingers in affection. He gave a pleased chirp before disappearing with a sudden explosion of fire.

Harry didn't hesitate a moment longer, sweeping out of the room and striding down the stairs to the ornate fireplace in the run-down entrance hall1. He quickly concluded it would be in his best interest to floo directly to Gringotts instead of the Leaky Cauldron. The less chance people had to recognize him, the better. He took some powder from the conveniently placed pot, throwing it into the cold ashes. He waited for the usual greenish flames to appear before stepping in and saying, "Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley!"

When the world stopped spinning, Harry found himself spit out from one of the many fireplaces lining the main hall of Gringotts. He lost his balance, but thankfully managed to avoid falling on his face and embarrassing himself by the sheer grace of his luck. He glanced around nervously while dusting off the ash that clung to his cloak. He was surprised to note how deserted the building seemed compared to the few other times he had been there. There were no more than a few smaller clusters of people waiting for their turn at the lines, and they all kept to themselves within their groups, murmuring to each other in hushed whispers, occasionally glancing around at the others in suspicion. What had happened since the end of school? Based on how they were acting, the Ministry had definitely made Voldemort's return public. Was the snake-face moving openly now? Perhaps raids were happening as well? Harry wanted to know. Maybe he could get some Daily Prophets dating back to the last weeks from somewhere?

That would have to wait though. He had business to attend to first. He walked up to a line that only had a scared-looking couple talking to the goblin behind the raised desk in the most un-Harry-Potter-like manner he could manage. The straight posture and confident steps felt decidedly weird to mimic, and Harry felt a little stupid doing it, but he had a part to play. He would not leave anything to chance.

When the two in front of him hurried off, Harry swaggered over to the sneering teller, glancing around before standing on tiptoes to say as quietly as possible, "May I ask for a private hearing with Griphook please?" He remembered that goblin, and it was the only way he could think of to get one of the cranky employees of the bank alone long enough to get what he wanted. The teller raised an eyebrow.

"And who would be the one requesting this audience?"

Harry tried not to fidget. "Harry Potter." he whispered, his voice barely audible. He checked if anyone caught the name, but no one was paying him the slightest attention, thank Merlin. The goblin twitched, though he gave no other outward reaction except for a nod as he slipped behind his desk. Harry waited, and the creature appeared from behind the booth moments later, gesturing for him to follow. Harry was led to an unnoticeable white door at the opposite end of the hall across from the main entrance. The goblin waved him inside while keeping the door open, although the curtesy was ruined by the ever present sneer he wore. The boy found himself in a narrow corridor, then was ushered through another door leading to a room that appeared to be an office of sorts.

There was a desk in the middle with one chair behind it and one in front of it. Stacks of parchments were arranged on the wooden surface in neat rows. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. A filing cabinet was pushed into the far left corner.

The unpleasant goblin instructed him to sit down and wait for Griphook to arrive, and Harry obeyed without word. He was here to ask for a favor after all. It wouldn't do to anger the ones who could grant it.

It didn't take more then two minutes for the familiar face of the first goblin Harry ever met to appear. The creature looked annoyed with the situation as he made his way to the other end of the desk in silence. He sat down, and shot the boy a measuring look with his elbows on the table and his fingers laced under his chin. The pose reminded Harry of a mafia don awaiting a report quite absurdly.

"Mister Potter," he drawled with his creaky voice, "what may your business with me be?"

"I have received my inheritance from my godfather, Sirius Black, during the summer." Harry started, uncertain of how else to broach the subject. Griphook nodded impatiently. "I was wondering what he left for me exactly, since I was not invited to the reading of the will."

The goblin jerked, as if slapped. "What do you mean by not being invited?" he asked in a dangerous tone. There was an intensity in his gaze now that Harry wasn't sure he liked.

"Well, to be honest I was... indisposed most of the time to receive owls at my muggle relatives' place. There were a few owls that came, but I was unable to receive the packages due to certain circumstances."

The goblin shook his head. "The goblins would have looked into the matter if you didn't send an answer either way. Let us make this clear, Mister Potter. You received no notification whatsoever about the date of the reading?" Harry nodded.

"Tell me then, how is it you came to know about getting an inheritance? Maybe the will did not mention you after all, and that is why no invitation was sent to you?"

"That is not the case. I'm already in possession of a Black family property and a house elf. My magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore, was the one to tell me about it yesterday." Harry didn't think it wise to mention he already moved into said property. Griphook leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

"Magical guardian, you say?" He tapped his index finger against his lipless mouth. Seconds passed in silence, when he suddenly got up. "Wait here, Mister Potter." He shuffled out of the room, muttering to himself. Another five or so minutes passed in silence with Harry fidgeting uncomfortably. The door finally opened again to admit Griphook back in, who was followed by another goblin right On his heels.

"This is Mardook, Mister Potter." he introduced. "He is in charge of the Black family accounts, and as such, he is the one responsible for the wills as well."

Harry stood and greeted him awkwardly. "I'm Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you, Mister Mardook."

Mardook shot him a toothy grin. "A polite lad, this one." he said to Griphook in amusement, while the other goblin just grunted in disinterest. Harry scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, as the newly introduced creature slid into the chair Griphook had occupied previously. With a snap of his fingers an additional chair appeared beside him, into which the more unpleasant of the two sat down without a word.

"Now onto business. As I understand, you, Mister Potter, for some reason failed to get our invitation to the reading of Sirius Black's will?"

"Yes."

Mardook placed the binding he had been carrying onto the table between them, and opened it up to search for something. When he found it, he slid an official-looking piece of parchment across to Harry, who took it with trepidation. He glanced at the title.

Authorization of proxy

Harry's eyes ran over the contents in disbelief. And at the very end of the text, in so small a space he nearly missed it, was his signature. It was exactly how he would have signed his name, down to the quirky curve of the letter t he would have used. And the problem? The fact that he never signed this agreement in the first place. It basically said he allowed Dumbledore to act as his proxy in all official settings till he came off age.

"I never signed this!" he burst out without intending to. The two goblins looked at him oddly.

"Is that, or is it not your signature?"

"Yes, but... No! I never signed this!"

"That's impossible, Mister Potter. All signatures are tested for authenticity before we accept them." Mardook explained. "Perhaps you have forgotten?"

"No! I didn't even know Dumbledore was my magical guardian till yesterday! I didn't sign this!" he said, adamant.

After a heavy pause, Mardook looked at Harry straight in the eye. "Would you be willing to undergo a small test to prove this? It is a serious matter to accuse someone of falsifying a document. Let alone the Supreme Mugwump himself."

Harry nodded, determined to get to the bottom of this. "What do I have to do?"

"Just say the truth. Goblins are allowed to use this method of verifying questionable matters, just as the Court uses it sometimes for testimonies. It is a simple way to tell whether the person in question is lying or not."

"I'll do it." Harry said with determination.

"Very well then."

Mardook walked over to the filing cabinet and opened the second drawer. He lifted a square black box the size of a baby's fist, decorated with golden designs on the lid. He placed it in front of Harry, telling him to open it. Inside, the boy found an amulet hanging from a thick metal chain. There was a transparent gem nestled in the middle of the ornate silver medal.

"Place it around your neck, and tell us wether or not you have signed this agreement. If you speak the truth, the gem will glow green. If not, it will be red instead."

"Sounds simple." Harry mused. He took the chain in hand, and pulled it over his head without further ado. He took a deep breath. "I have no memory of ever signing a document allowing Albus Dumbledore to act as my legal proxy." he said with an unwavering voice.

"I'll be..." muttered Griphook with a scary smile in place. Harry glanced down to see a green glow surrounding his chest area. Mardook looked ready to strangle someone.

"How is this possible?" he murmured quietly. "We check the authenticity of every contract we receive. A memory charm perhaps? Compulsion?" He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Mister Potter, it seems Gringotts has done you a great disservice. What do you wish to do about this oversight? Albus Dumbledore will of course be summoned in for questioning to the Ministry as soon as we notify them."

"Wait!" Harry interrupted. He wasn't sure it would be a good idea to alert the old coot about this just yet. "Could you wait a while before informing the Ministry? I would really appreciate it if you could keep this to yourselves before Dumbledore comes to know about me having been here."

The goblins didn't appear happy about the request, but they agreed.

"As for what I came here for; could you please let me view the will of my godfather? I would also like to see my parents' will, if that is possible. And I would be really grateful if you could tell me what it means to have a magical guardian."

Mardook was about to say something when Griphook spoke up instead. "I'm afraid that it will be impossible for us to show you your parents' will, as we don't have it. We never received one from the late Potters."

Harry frowned. "Isn't that strange though? I thought all Wizarding families left the handling of inheritances to Gringotts."

"That is true," Griphook said, "however it is not compulsory to leave a will. In cases where there isn't one, Ministry guidelines specify the handing out of the properties and money." Harry had no choice but to accept that. He was only hoping to see something of his mother and father, as he had so few things to remember them by. He was curious about what they might have said in their last testament. "Although we can give you a brief explanation about what you will receive once you reach your seventeenth birthday." That got Harry's attention.

"I will get more?" That was news. "But I already got a vault of money!"

Seeing his baffled face, the two goblins exchanged a glance. "Naturally." Mardook said after a few seconds of silence. "Your guardian has not informed you of this?" he asked carefully.

"Dumbledore? No, he never said anything about this." Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"That is strange indeed." Mardook muttered. "You see Mister Potter, one of the main roles of a magical guardian is to take care of the ward's financial matters, especially when an inheritance is distributed without a will. In the case when the assuming of the Lordship title of old families is not specified by the deceased Lord, the magical guardian is to take on all responsibilities until the heir automatically receives the title at seventeen."

Harry gaped at them. "Are you saying I'm a Lord or something?"

"That is correct, Mister Potter. Although not in the way you are probably thinking. Right now, you are only the heir to the Potter line. However, you are - as of last week - the actual Lord Black."

If Harry hadn't been sitting, his knees would have buckled. He was a Lord? When had Sirius made him his heir in the first place? This was crazy! Completely nuts!

"You should also know," Mardook began, "that together with the Lordship you have been given you are now, for all intents and purpose, emancipated. You can use all the Black family's seats on the Wizengamot, and have full control of the Black vaults, properties, and deeds."

Harry was starting to feel numb. He was emancipated? Mere days ago? Didn't that also mean he could legally use magic outside of school? And he had been worrying to death about it too!

"Wait a second." Harry said as the full repercussions of the last half an hour hit him. "Doesn't that mean I don't need a guardian any longer?"

Griphook gave another of his shark-like grins. "Precisely, Mister Potter. That is why I was so surprised to hear you claim Albus Dumbledore as one. His status as your guardian expired the moment Sirius Black's will came into effect after the reading."

Harry wanted to dance in joy. He was free of the old man! He had no more say in what he did, or where he chose to go. At least not in the legal sense. This visit was turning out better than he could have imagined.

"And the Potter title? If I'm legally off age, wouldn't that mean I should get my parents inheritance as well?"

"I'm afraid it isn't that easy." Mardook answered. "The Ministry allows people to assume their Lordship when they reach seventeen, not when they 'come off age', so to speak. This means that even though Dumbledore no longer has a claim on anything you own, you can also not access the full rights to the inheritance yet."

Harry shrugged. He didn't much care if he got all that money or not, but it was satisfying to know the goat's greedy fingers could no longer reach it either. "Has he used any of my parents' money?"

"Have you not seen your annual accounting? We send them out each year." Griphook asked.

Harry shook his head. The goblins looked downright angry at that.

"In that case we will give you the balance before you leave today. It is common knowledge on the other hand, that Dumbledore has been using the Potter seats in the Wizengamot for the past sixteen years for additional votes."

Harry wondered what the old man had been thinking. It was unlikely to assume he would never find out about this. Sooner or later the truth would have come to light. So why was he so confident in his machinations with Harry? Did he think him stupid enough to forgive him with a pat on the back for keeping him in the dark about all this, using him? Harry couldn't imagine that being the case. The Headmaster was the furthest thing from an idiot. He had to have anticipated a - rightfully - negative reaction from his golden boy when his trust was broken in such a way. The whole situation didn't make sense, and it was making Harry's head hurt just thinking about it.

The next hour was passed with the goblins listing everything he owned and would own at a later date in detail. Harry was amazed with the amount of wealth at his disposal. What was he to do with all that money? And he even had more than one mansion, for Merlin's sake! The small trust fund he had been using so far seemed plenty enough to live off comfortably for at least another two years after he graduated, and now he was presented with more than he could spend in a lifetime. It was overwhelming, especially knowing what kind of life he could have had compared to a childhood of starvation and second hand clothes the Dursleys had subjected him to. What _Dumbledore_ subjected him to. It was only now that he began to understand just what it meant to belong to a pureblooded line, and how deeply he had been wronged by the grandfatherly old man, who had left him to his fate in the muggle world in the first place.

By the time he was ready to leave Gringotts, he was so exhausted by all that happened in these past two days, he decided to head straight home. He could come back to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy clothes and stuff. Right now he only wanted a warm meal and a relaxing cup of tee before he would head straight back to bed.

So that was what he did. He said his good byes to Griphook and Mardook after thanking them for their help, and flooed back to Grimmauld with a thick stack of papers under his arm. He was surprised to find Fawkes waiting for him in the kitchen, but he said nothing. He petted the beautiful bird with a gentle smile after depositing the parchments he carried on an already full table, and told Kreatcher he would be heading upstairs, and to bring him something to eat there. He took a scalding hot shower, finished off the food and tea the elf had left for him, finally collapsing back onto the mattress with a jaw breaking yawn.

Before he fell asleep, he still had enough energy to remember what he had forgotten to ask Kreatcher. So he called out for the creature sleepily.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Kreatcher, please remember not to close the window this time. Hedwig was out on

a hunt last night and she couldn't come back in."

The elf nodded, and Harry was too tired to see the confusion on the weathered face. He fell asleep blissfully unaware of how fidgety the creature had become before popping away, taking the tray with the empty plate and cup with him.

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1 I'm not sure where the fireplace actually is, so just go with it, ok?


	3. Interlude - Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Honestly, I was a little disappointed with how little feedback I was receiving compared to my other stories, but I figured I really _have_ been gone for far too long. Or... people simply don't like this fic as much as the previous ones. Alas, I'm glad for the ones I got, and cookies to everybody who placed it on their alerts and favorites lists as well! :)

About the chapter - even though it's mostly just a short interlude, there are some bits and pieces in it that are important. Next chapter will be back to normal again, so no worries!

Warnings: mild reference to child abuse

Oh, and I just noticed I made a mistake in the previous chapters. Since Harry got placed with the Dursleys after he had already turned one, Dumbledore only had the chance to use the Wizengamot seats for fifteen, not sixteen years. I'll correct that soon.

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Chapter 3 - Interlude

Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at one of the many small trinkets on his desk thoughtfully. It was an amusing contraption that he had acquired during a trip to Rome some forty years ago, he would guess. It really had no particular use, but the little golden item, consisting of wires and moonstones woven together in a quirky fashion, had caught his interest the moment he had lain eyes on it, and he simply had to have it in his collection.

Since over time it still remained among his favorites, he eventually decided to put it to actual use, if only to justify placing it in such a sought after spot for exhibition as his desk. The perfect opportunity to do so had presented itself around fifteen years back, and it had taken it's place in the spotlight right beside his bowl of lemon drops ever since, much to the confusion of his oblivious staff. After young Harry's outburst at the beginning of the summer some repair had to be done of course, but the enchantments he had placed on the gems thankfully held without damage.

As for the reason he kept watching it so intently? Besides the fact that he took pleasure in viewing his favored trinket, one of the stones kept pulsating blue alarmingly. Dumbledore noticed it as soon as he entered his office after breakfast had taken place, with the lovely Minerva ranting his aged ears off about something or another. It was now two in the afternoon, so it stood to reason for the Headmaster to begin to worry. Especially considering that his beloved Phoenix had yet to return from the errand he had sent him on.

It had been a stroke of genius - at the risk of sounding conceited - to send the boy the letter. He had decided to be as open with Harry as possible given the circumstances, and he was positive his honesty at sharing information and treating him as a grown up would placate the teen for the time being. The boy was just entering his rebellious stage, made quite clear by the destruction wrought upon his office before school let out. He needed Harry's trust right now, more than ever. For his plans to work, the boy had to look at his Headmaster for guidance to the very end. It was imperative to make him depend on Dumbledore for support. There was only one way to end this war, and the old Headmaster's every move so far had been made with that goal in mind. It was necessary to steer the boy in the right direction, and his careful plans had come into effect the minute he had left the orphaned infant on Petunia Dursley's doorstep so long ago.

Dumbledore could not say he did not regret the fate the boy had to fulfill, or the life he had to be subjected to in order for everything to go down as planned, however there was really no other way to go about it. Dumbledore had known exactly what the scar on the baby's forehead meant when he had caught sight of him in the crumbling remains of Godric's Hollow on that ominous day. He had left immediately to flesh out his next course of action, and some last minute maneuvering in the Ministry had to be done so no questions would be asked. When Hagrid had handed over the small bundle at the end of the exhausting night, his steely resolve could have crumbled at seeing the picture of innocence his actions were about to destroy. But he held fast to his conviction that all he was doing was for the greater good. The right path was not always the easiest one to take after all.

And so, the boy was left to grow up in an environment where his self-esteem was not allowed to develop beyond a certain point. His sole reason for existing would be to serve the need of others, and he would be happy for any hard earned regard he got in return for his sacrifices.

It was a gamble of the highest order. Harry could have turned out to be another Riddle in the making, but Dumbledore was fairly sure it would not happen that way. The world needed him to die after all, for the safety and well-being of wizards and muggles alike. And Dumbledore knew that the date for this to pass was drawing near.

Of course, leaving the infant with his aunt had other benefits as well. Among the many positive consequences, he grew up completely ignorant of the Wizarding World and its customs. This allowed Dumbledore to use his status as his magical guardian with Harry none the wiser as to what kind of influence the Potter family could wield. By the time his ignorance would have come to light the poor boy would be already dead, and so could not take matters into his own hands and ruin the efforts of more than a decade. Dumbledore did feel a little bad about depriving him of his legacy, but his money and power were put to good use, and he was certain that justified everything. Not to mention how young Harry could not be allowed to think he had any other purpose in the world than defeating the evil plaguing the innocent people of the light.

The Headmaster's hard work could have easily crumbled with Sirius Black's death. The blasted fool getting himself killed would not only hinder his godson - what with the boy mourning his death instead of concentrating on more important matters - but it also had the unfortunate effect of Harry becoming aware of his position in society by grace of the will bestowing him with the Black fortune. The boy could not be allowed to know just how powerful he would become, and had to be prevented from assuming the duties of being the Heir by all costs. Dumbledore, being the great master at magic that he was, managed to concoct a remedy to the situation by charming his signature from an old Hogsmead pass onto an official contract that would allow him to sit in on the reading of the will instead of Harry.

And how lucky it was, too! Black had actually made him Lord from the moment of his death, effectively emancipating him at the same time. Dumbledore would have cursed the idiot if he weren't already dead, not only for nearly ruining his plans with the boy, but also depriving Dumbledore from tools that were more necessary in these dark times than ever. Not having access to the Potter fortune any longer was a huge blow to his efforts. The seats in the Wizengamot would be missed the most, with the Ministry so filled with idiots not prepared for the coming war at all, although the lost monetary support for the Order was a setback as well.

This mess had to be put to rights at once, and after a few days of not being able to decide how to proceed, Dumbledore had an ingenious idea that would solve everything in a few stokes of the young man's quill. Unfortunately, the nature of the new contract forced Dumbledore into having to send the form directly to the boy, as the parchment would not accept any tampering with the signature, no matter how Dumbledore tried. It was, after all, a much more serious matter indeed than a simple proxy arrangement, and the document itself had to be requested directly from the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If signed, it would basically permit the Headmaster to continue acting as Harry's magical guardian. It was used in cases where the Heir-turned-Lords of families were, for reasons of their own, not ready to assume the responsibilities that came with the title. They would leave the handling of the businesses, money, and other duties to someone better fit for the position until they came off age.

Dumbledore had written to Harry with the very pressing excuse of not being able to access Grimmauld Place. It was not exactly a lie, he had just neglected to mention the larger part of the picture. He played on the boy's feelings masterfully, letting him know how difficult this was making life for those who fought against Tom. With the boy's rash nature, not to mention his aversion to research and reading material well out of his depth, the Headmaster was positive he would not take the time to read through the contract before signing it. This was precisely the type of situation where his upbringing would bear fruit. Of course, even if he did read the document, there was still no chance of him discovering anything of importance. Harry had no way of knowing what his inheritance - which he would be signing over to Dumbledore - actually entailed, and had no reason to doubt his grandfatherly Headmaster's words.

But right now Dumbledore really was beginning to feel somewhat unsettled. The boy had not been at Privet Drive the whole morning, and he was running out of reasons that could possibly explain his absence. The pulsing gem told him nothing of where he might be; it was only keyed to the wards around the Dursley residence, not to Harry himself. He had also expected a letter to be waiting on his desk with the signed agreement, and there was no need to point out how confused he had been by it's evident absence. And he had not even began to wonder where Fawkes had disappeared to! He had sent him out last evening before he retired to his rooms with instructions to wait for the boy's response and then head back immediately.

Dumbledore stared at the precious stone, indecisive. On one hand, this could mean that Harry hadn't had a chance to reply yet, and had been sent out on some errand or another in the morning. On the other hand, what mysterious errand could the dear Petunia possibly make up that would last well into the afternoon?

The Headmaster stroked thin fingers through his beard. He would continue his observance over the boy's status for now, and wait for Fawkes to return. There was no use in getting worked up about a situation that could turn out to be nothing to worry about. He also had plans for later this day, big plans. It was time to set some events in motion that would lead to the inevitable course young Harry's life should be taking. The company of his Phoenix will be necessary on this mission, he knew. Hunting down pieces of Tom's soul would definitely prove to be dangerous, and Dumbledore was certain he should use all the help he could get, no matter how unwillingly given.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello Darling Readers,

it's been ages, right? Well, I must say, the 3-month break wasn't planned. It all began with me leaving for a vacation in Greece. Since then tons of stuff happened, like me getting a new job, and my Grandma passing away. I understandably had very little motivation to write, even if I would have had the time. Alas, I now have a new chapter for you all to enjoy. Please be dears and leave me some nice words if you have a free moment. I would also appreciate it if you told me about any inconsistencies you may find. Mistakes can happen after such a long time after all.

Hugs!

Warnings: Hm, nothing more than naughty language, if even that. But I must mention the plot picking up pace by the end of the chappie, so that's something to look forward to. :}

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Chapter 4

Harry woke up in the evening, surprised to see a darkening sky from the open window. He only meant to take a nap, but it seemed his body was more worn out than he had realized. He practically slept through the whole day! Of course, getting starved for weeks, then being beaten half to death, only to accelerate his healing with what he could only assume to be a great many potions, and disregarding all the above to spend two hours in the company of goblins as soon as he was out of bed had to be taxing on a human. All in all, he was happy to note he was feeling a lot better than before with his exhaustion out of the way. Despite losing some precious time he could have spent on research, Harry was aware he had needed the rest.

Hedwig was gone, probably out hunting by now. He recalled to have promised her owl treats if he found any, which would be the first thing he asked from Kreatcher when he got downstairs. He rolled out of bed with a yawn, placing his glasses on. The frames were round again, the charm having worn off during the day. He pulled a pair of oversized jeans on top of the boxers he had slept in, followed by a worn T-shirt that must have been a red color at one point. It looked suspiciously pink. Yes, he most definitely needed to visit Madam Malkin's at some point in the near future.

Harry tucked his wand into his waistband and left the room in search of something to eat. He found Kreatcher in the kitchen, busy preparing some sort of stew in a huge pan. He smiled at the elf's back, marveling at the complete change of attitude compared to the atrocious behavior from before. Not that the house elf was not crazy anymore, as demonstrated by the muttering of his 'Mistress' and 'Young Master' he kept up even as Harry watched, but it was a wonder how easy it had been to win the creature over.

With instructions to make him some snacks and prepare treats for Hedvig delivered, Harry took his leave from the kitchen, levitating the large pile of documents left on the table in front of him. The library would be a much better choice to work on breaking the encryptions with all the books in easy reach. The portrait of Walburga was throwing him a comical mix of disgusted and curious glances as he passed her, but he paid the matron no mind, heading to the second floor.

After climbing the stairs, Harry tried to remember which door was the one that led to the Black library. Some trial and error brought him the results; the third door on the right proved to be his destination. Well, it was not like he had been particularly interested in the large - if significantly thinned by Mrs. Weasley's enthusiasm - collection of books before. The only time he had ever been there was when Hermione dragged him there to show Harry and Ron the new heaven she had discovered. Of course, her happiness had been short lived, as the trio had been promptly instructed upon discovery not to enter the place again until a thorough screening had been done by the adults for dangerous items. Harry dearly hoped they had not yet had the chance to dispose of all the interesting stuff. The amount of books in there rivaled the Hogwarts library after all, and Mrs. Weasley surely had other obligations to tend to besides throwing away valuable items in the household.

Harry even felt a little resentful of Sirius for a moment for letting the Order callously dispose of the Black family treasures, but it did not last long. His godfather had been through hell in Azkaban, and besides the mental instability he had developed as a result of his long prison-stay, he could not fault him for not caring about a great many things in general, especially items he had never really liked at all. Not to mention Harry's own interest had also only recently developed, so pointing fingers was quite hypocritical of him.

Looking around for somewhere to sit, he spotted a cluster of comfortable looking couches farther back. He deposited the levitating objects on the low table amongst the seats, and walked over to the nearest shelf to inspect the contents. Clearly, this was one part of the library the Weasley matriarch had already dug through, evident by the gaping holes left by the books she had removed. The ones left were mostly historic in nature, which though perhaps interesting, was not something had the time to go through right then. He decided to venture into the deeper parts of the room, in hopes of finding untouched collections that actually remained organized by Sirius's meticulous family.

Harry wasn't disappointed; the thick layer of dust still present the further he went was a good indication that these parts were as of yet undisturbed. Although this was a more positive outcome than he had dared to hope for, it also meant he would have to be exceedingly careful not to touch anything cursed. The fact that he could use his wand would be his sole saving grace, otherwise the venture would have turned very dangerous fast.

The next few hours passed in an agonizing slow fashion and left Harry feeling frustrated. Hermione would have found what they were looking for within the first ten minutes and then some for extra measure. It seemed the Blacks were not all that keen on protection spells, if the meager materials he found on the subject that did not appear particularly nasty and ominous was anything to go by.

As a last ditch effort, Harry summoned every single book on enchantments and protection magic with his wand, which turned out not to be a very bright idea at all when at least fifty books zoomed toward him at top speed a moment later. With a few phenomenal dodges and expertly executed gymnastic feats he slumped into the nearest couch, nursing a bruise on his forearm where a large tome managed to hit him. He bent down, picking up the first book within arm's reach after verifying it's safety with a small spell.

**Olde Magicks, The Inherent Wild **_by Adeline Kröger_

Harry opened the cover to inspect the contents. It turned out to have nothing to do with what he was looking for at all, but chapters such as _Wild magic; the infinite potential_, or _Nature versus the individual_ shown in the table of contents piqued his interest enough to put it aside for later study. The next book he picked up looked promising.

**Sentient Protection**_ by Merida LeFey_

But Harry wished he never opened it after a full ten minutes of reading. The book contained instructions on how to bind and force one's will upon a magical creature, only to to weave it's life-force into a spell one could place on items or even a home. Although Harry's opinions on light and dark magic had changed drastically in the past few months, but his morals had not, thank-you-very-much.

And so went the next half an hour until he found something he would be able use at last. According to the text his first order of business was to find out exactly what kind of warding the desired object had. An advanced form of the revealing spell he had been using to check for curses would yield the answers.

Harry practiced the wand movements and incantation separately a few times, then grabbed a roll of parchment Dumbledore had left behind, and cast. The air around the scroll shimmered, then pulsed with an icy blue color before turning back to normal. Harry checked the book, and found the blue color to mean "Simple Password Lock". Skipping to the chapter titled as such, he read:

_Password locks can be tricky to break, thus why it is so widely and effectively used. A password could be any collection of sounds the caster is capable of pronouncing, be that in a long lost language or - if one is smart - an entirely nonsensical string of syllables a person can make up. It is believed by many that the famous Stone Hedge is one such an example of an unsolvable mystery, it's secrets protected by a password impossible to decipher due to it's ancient nature and is speculated to be a mix of words and numbers cast by one of the legendary Mages of old. This however, leads us to the one fault such an enchantment has; the magic protecting the item, like in most cases where magic is involved, can only ever be as strong as it's caster is/was._

_As we know, every person in possession of a magical core is capable of casting spells. Research done on Squibs has shown astounding results - although shunned among wizards for their lack of magic, the belief that babies can be born to a Wizarding couple without the possession of magic has been proven to be false! The ones we call Squibs do have a magical core, the difference being that it is too small, thus not powerful enough for their spells to take hold as the excess wild magic generated during the casting is simply stronger then the spell itself, breaking it before it could take effect. And so we have come back to the point; a wizard or witch magically stronger than the original caster is capable of breaking any spell cast by the weaker, if they know how._

_As for the method for breaking such enchantments, the most effective way is to raise pure wild magic. If one knows the basics for accessing this powerful force within, breaking a password would be no trouble at all, as long as they are capable of raising a stronger power than the originator had used._

Harry glanced at the book he had put aside for later inspection. The title seemed to correspond with what he was now reading; **Olde Magicks, The Inherent Wild**. His interest in the subject now doubled, if only out of necessity, he was resolved to studying the contents thoroughly. The author of the book indicated wild magic to be a very powerful tool indeed, and he was determined to master it. Not to mention he would need it very soon if it was the most effective way to break the enchantments on the documents.

The only true problem Harry foresaw - after having to actually learn a whole new branch of magic - was the scenario where he would prove to be weaker magically than the one who spelled the parchments. As he saw it, his chances were fifty-fifty. He had no idea how a wizard's power could be measured, or where he stood with his own. It was a chance he would have to take.

_The harder part would be to find enough information on the Olde Magicks to be able to study it sufficiently. The conscious practice of wild magic has been first outlawed in the thirteenth century, later labelled as Dark Arts when the term gained favor, due to it's uncontrollable nature and the destruction it's practitioners wrought. In modern times the phrase "Dark Arts" is often used incorrectly for all types of the more destructive spells, when in fact most of these curses are are often not even related to wild magic. Wizards are of course able and do use this part of their power, but very rarely do so consciously. Some good examples would be the Patronus charm or the Cruciatus curse, which would explain why some have such a difficult time mastering them, while others do so with much less effort. That is their aptitude for wild magic showing through, so if you are one who was able to master these spells early or relatively fast, you probably have a great chance of being able to wield Olde Magick. However, all materials related to this obscure branch have been restricted, and it is highly illegal to own texts even mentioning the topic and not turning it in to the Ministry._

Harry closed the book with a thoughtful frown. He had come across a very interesting tidbit of information. What he had read redefined the whole concept of light and dark magic, if the distinction even existed. It seemed the Ministry just used the terms to make vague and sometimes questionable differences between morally right and morally wrong spells. The real Dark Arts - or wild magic - on the other hand was an old, powerful branch of magic, which according to the author, fueled both "light" and "dark" spells. And Harry would be learning it.

* * *

By the time he managed to place all the books back into their places, Harry could no longer ignore the impatient growling his stomach had been producing for a while. Kreatcher had only brought him a light snack earlier, and a Tempus charm informed him that it was close to morning already. No wonder he was hungry!

He snatched up the leather-bound tome on wild magic after organizing the Order's documents into a neat pile, and left the library to have some breakfast. He didn't feel tired at all, energized by the prospect of the new challenge he now faced. He would also need to visit Diagon Alley again today to buy everything necessary for the next few weeks if he wanted to preserve any chance of not getting discovered by the old coot. It was already a long shot to assume the Order was not searching for him yet. Any later than this and he would definitely get discovered, so he would use these last moments of relative freedom to their fullest.

"Good morning, Master Harry." the old elf muttered. His voice seemed sullen, more so than normal in any case, especially compared to the almost pleasant tone he had taken the day before.

Harry drew his eyebrows together. "Morning. Is something wrong?"

Kreatcher bowed deep while grumbling to himself in his usual manner. "Master asking Kreatcher if something is wrong. Of course there is something wrong, but it's not Kreatcher's fault, no it's not. Kreatcher could hardly stop the filth-" A pause. "... the nast-" Another pause. "... the friends of Master from eating and drinking all the food in the Great Black Family Home. Now Kreatcher has nothing to serve Master for breakfast. What would the Mistress say? How disappointed she would be! But Kreatcher-"

"Kreatcher!" Harry said, attempting to get the elf's attention. "So we are out of food?"

The small creature's nose was now touching the ground. "I'm sorry, Master Harry. The ones who were living here only ever brought enough for a day or two, so Kreatcher prepared the snacks yesterday night from what was left."

Harry nodded. "Is it possible to place you in charge of grocery shopping from now on if I provide you the money?" Although he could buy some stuff today, but it would not be quite as easy as that later on, so it would make sense to leave the elf to handle it. Where did he put the documents he received from the goblins again? They should be...

"Hang on a minute." he said, and sprinted out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and burst into the room he had been using. The moment before he had entered, he thought he saw something move from the corner of his eye down the corridor, but there was nothing there when he doubled back to check, so he shrugged, focused on his mission again. He grabbed the fancy binder the goblins had given him from where he had tossed it to the floor in a haphazard manner yesterday, and retraced his steps back to the basement level. He slammed his finding on the table, and started digging through the contents. Kreatcher was still standing in the same spot, watching Harry in confusion.

"Hah!" Harry cried in victory, waving identical silver colored palm-sized cards in each hand. "I knew they said they were giving me an extra." He handed over one to Kreatcher. "Are you able to use this?" he asked, referring to the item he was pushing the elf into accepting. It was an ingenious solution Gringotts came up with for wizards who were not willing to go all the way to the Bank whenever they wanted to withdraw money, or just weren't willing to carry too much with them at one time. It functioned somewhat like a credit card; one could use it to pay in most Wizarding stores, where the clerk would basically place a request for the amount of galleons it's owner owed for their purchases, which would be checked at the end of each day by the goblins on duplicates of the cards they kept. Afterwards, the sum would be delivered to the shops by owl without delay. And since he was now technically Kreatcher's master, the elf should have no problem using it to pay in his name.

"Kreatcher can use Request Cards, he can." He bowed once.

"Good." Harry grinned. "You should buy whatever groceries you think we need here, I'll leave it all up to you. Just make sure we have enough food for both of us. Can you do that?"

The house elf stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before nodding.

"Kreatcher is responsible for shopping now. Kreatcher doesn't know what to say to Master. Finally Kreatcher gets to take care of the Noble House of Black again! Kreatcher is really happy. Should he tell Master he is thankful? Kreatcher is a good elf, he is." he muttered under his breath. Harry held back another grin, happy things were going so well. Winning the nutty elf's trust was one of the luckiest turn of events to date. He was turning out to be a great deal more useful than Harry could have imagined.

Not even a full ten minutes later, he was ready to head out, glamours all in place. He flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, where after performing his impeccable impression of some confident but uninteresting guy in for a quick breakfast, he walked through the entrance to Diagon Alley. He did his best not to stand out, even though like Gringotts, the streets were also a lot less crowded than he was used to.

His first stop was at Flourish and Blotts. Upon entering he asked the old man behind the counter to give him a list of books a sixth year Hogwarts student would usually take. Naturally, Defence Against the Dark Arts was not possible, but with the other teachers being constant, the rest of the reading material never changed much. For a small amount of extra galleons, the shopkeeper proved to be kind enough to promise that he would mail the missing book on the subject as soon as the first sixth year made it to the shop with a complete book list for the year. Another extra sickle or two was the right motivation for the man to keep the name of his generous new patron a secret.

Next, Harry went to buy the necessary supplies for school, with a great deal more parchment and ink than usual for the extra studying he would be doing during the summer. He refilled his depleted general potions ingredients, brought some ready made ones, such as Dreamless Sleep, Pain Reliever, and Hair Lengthener to name a few. He got some owl treats for Hedwig, as well as a perch for her to sleep on instead of the back of the nearest chair.

And after finally having everything he had planned to get shrunken in his pockets, he decided to indulge himself by visiting the Optician and getting new frames, as well as a better prescription to be picked up within the next hour. His new glasses would look quite similar to the glamoured ones.

Then there was Madam Malkin, the woman being all too happy to provide him with a new wardrobe, and with the price she finally asked for, Harry wasn't surprised at her cheer. She even managed to talk him into a different set of robes for all occasions - including "Home assemble: stylish and comfortable in one dear! One can never know when to expect guests after all!" - for Merlin's sake.

All the while he had been out and about, Harry had been also keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. He was ready to flee at the first sight of an Order member, be that friend or not, but so far he had spotted none. He was not sure how long his luck would hold though, so after exiting Madam Malkin's, he hastened his steps toward the Optician for his finished glasses, very nearly jogging to the Leaky Cauldron when done. By a sudden bout of inspiration, he realized he could now legally apparate after getting a license with the emancipation and all, so he would have to look into the details of how to go about gaining it without drawing undue attention from nosy headmasters and paranoid ministers.

Back at Grimmauld, Harry found Kreatcher busy cooking something in the kitchen. There was still some time left till lunch, but the old elf seemed to have gained his enthusiasm for acting like a proper house elf back ten-fold, so Harry grabbed the binder from the goblins and the book on wild magic, leaving him to it. He headed to his room, wanting to pack away his new purchases. He deposited most of the things in his trunk except for his new wardrobe, which were placed in the empty closet in the corner. He had so many new clothes, it was a tight fit.

Harry even changed into a "home assemble"; it really was very comfortable. It consisted out of loose but well cut black pair of pants made of cotton, a thin shirt which was white with funky black and gray designs around the collar and down upon the line of buttons, topped off with a sleeveless black over-robe to be worn unfastened. Harry also tried his new spectacles, and boy was he amazed! He could not remember a time of ever seeing this well before. He decided that with already being on a makeover spree, he would also deal with his hair now. He snatched the Hair Lengthening Potion, removed the glamour he still wore, and took a sip in front of the bathroom mirror.

Five minutes later he was still standing in the same spot, watching his preening reflection grumpily. The potion worked fine of course, Harry just managed to overlook a small detail; growing out one's hair didn't automatically style it. So now he was stuck with a great mane of locks reaching his shoulder blades, with no idea on what to do with it. He looked ridiculous. He wasn't a bloody girl! Perhaps he could ask Kreatcher to help?

The house elf was happy to be of service, and dealt with the matter by a quick snap of his fingers.

"Thanks!" Harry told him with gratitude.

"No problem, Master Harry. Would you want to have lunch now?"

"I guess so... What did you cook?"

Kreatcher glanced at the counter where an assortment of dishes were set out and covered. "Kreatcher prepared soup and chicken stew. Has Kreatcher done well, he wonders?"

Harry smiled and nodded. He ate a serving of both, but his stomach felt very uncomfortable afterwards. The Dursley household had never been very conductive to his health, and with him used to such meager amounts of food, it was always hard to readjust to the regular intervals and portions he would receive once out of their care. However, he did not want to hurt the established truce between Kreatcher and him by refusing to eat what he had cooked.

"Thanks, Kreatcher." Harry said with forced cheer while doing his best to hold everything he stuffed inside down in his belly. He stood. "I am planning to stay in my room for the day, could you please bring me some tea a little later?"

The elf nodded, and Harry took his leave, picking up the binder from where he had left it at the other end of the table. Once upstairs, he threw himself over the bed, groaning. It took him a good twenty minutes to feel well enough to shuffle into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. Placing the binder with the Gringotts crest upon his lap, he paged through the contents.

Like he expected, the greedy old bastard of a headmaster did indeed help himself to a good portion of the Potter fortune. Year after year the withdrawals from the main vault grew, and Harry noticed the sudden drastic rise of galleons taken out in last year's balance. Harry now knew where the Order's funding was coming from. He had been paying for everything! The bribes for Ministry officials, the travel costs, even the food everyone ate while at Grimmauld.

A few artifacts were also missing from their designated vaults, mostly taken within the first year of his parents' deaths. The invisibility cloak was also amongst the things listed, which meant Dumbledore lied through his teeth when he told Harry he had borrowed it from his father before Voldemort had a chance to find them. Harry wondered if there was a way to get the items back once the time came to hold the headmaster responsible for his crimes committed against the Potter heir. That would still have to wait though.

Besides, the Black fortune was more than enough for not only Harry but the grandchildren of his grandchildren as well. He would of course attempt to get the money the old coot stole back, but it was the heirlooms he was really concerned about. As long as he could have those, he would count it as a victory.

Speaking of the Blacks... **_Sirius really outdid himself with his final stunt_**, Harry thought in fondness. With the sheer amount of funding and other resources at his disposal, not to mention the secret houses of the family, Harry couldn't understand why he didn't use them to disappear. He could have lived in peace for the rest of his life at the other end of the world, but he had stayed in Britain instead, hiding from the Ministry in his hated childhood home, not even able to walk down the street without fearing for his life. Why had he stayed then? Was it just for... Harry? For the godson he had believed he had failed by not being there for him before?

But Sirius had never failed him. He had been locked away for a crime he had never committed, and after all those years of suffering, he had still showed his support and willingness to help someone he technically hadn't even known. He had offered Harry a place to stay, a new family, and if not for the old goat's interference, it could have worked out too. In the end, he had died for Harry, for a mistake his rash godson made, and still, he extended a final helping hand, securing him with money and a home, not to mention giving him his freedom - using pureblood laws to achieve it all, no less. He had always said he would have the final laugh.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent reading the book on wild magic. The introduction mostly repeated what Harry knew already. Wild magic had been banned for it's destructive force a long time ago, later referred to as Dark Arts. Practitioners had been the most powerful wizards ever seen, performing impossible feats, awing the people around them. However with great power came great responsibility, and - as it usually happened - not everyone had wanted to use their abilities for good. After witnessing the rise of the evil such power could bring time and time again, the population had begun fearing the magic itself. This, as far as Harry was concerned, was a foolish - but expected - response. It would have had appeared logical; if they couldn't control something it should not exist, no matter if it had it's benefits or not.

The decision to outlaw wild magic had been naturally frowned upon by the ones who had practiced it. Rebellions had arisen, getting more brutal every time they had been beaten back, possible only because practitioners had mostly been peace loving people, sworn not to use their powers for selfish purposes. Their oath had however lost its value in face of the discrimination and unfair prosecution their people had faced. As the ages passed and new generations had been born into repression, so had the tone of of the confrontations changed. Wild magic users had begun taking a more radical approach - responding to violence with violence, eventually earning themselves a new moniker: the Dark Army.

The Dark Army had been cruel and swift, capable of wiping out whole legions of wizards who had dared stand against them. Their spells had been destructive and had brought about mayhem and death wherever they had gone. It had not been much later when the term "Dark Arts" spread.

Harry thought the Wizarding population had gotten what they had deserved. He knew all too well what it was like when people suddenly turned against you for something out of your control. Wild magic practitioners as a whole basically suffered for the misdeeds of the scant few of their ranks. Harry could not find fault with them for wanting their freedom and rights back. He would have done the same; fought for his self, fought for what he believed to be right. Perhaps the Death Eaters had the right idea after all, if not for their aim of hunting down and killing muggles and muggleborns. How they came to the conclusion that muggles were the root of their problems, he would never know. Maybe Voldemort's insanity was contagious?

In any case, Harry kept on reading, barely paying attention to Kreatcher, who had since brought him tea, and now appeared with a tray of covered plates, urging Harry to have something to eat. With the history of Dark Arts over would come the most interesting part; the basics of wild magic.

_The first thing one must understand when dealing with the Olde Arts, is that not everybody has the aptitude to wield this form of magic. The ability is inherited, mostly found in the old pureblood lines._

A footnote was attached to this part, so Harry skipped to the tiny letters at the bottom of the page to read it.

_*As we have already established, today's use of "light" and "dark" have little relation to the true meaning of Dark Arts. (In order to ward off future confusion on the matter, we shall refer to the Arts as wild magic from here on out.) It should also be mentioned, that Dark and Light pureblood families therefore are not equal to wild magic and non- wild magic users. These terms were used to differentiate between the aggressive protesters against the restriction of their magic use, and the peaceful acceptance some others continued to show in face of the Wizarding Nation's will. With acceptance of the laws shown in Light families, these practitioners have mostly forgotten this branch of magic. Sadly, it has also been noted that fewer and fewer Dark families continue to carry the ability to wield such power. It has been speculated that wild magic would die out within the next three to four generations if things remain as they are. No one could yet find the reason for this tragedy occurring, and attempts to remedy the situation remain unsuccessful.*_

Harry checked the publishing date. The book had been written ninety-eight years ago.

_Aptitude for wild magic can be checked easily. As a small precaution, the rest of the text is blocked, unless the reader can unlock it using the instructions stated below. Attempting wild magic can be very dangerous, oftentimes fatal, if the person doesn't have the original ability to do so. If one is capable of meeting the conditions, the text will of course appear, meaning the person in question can wield Olde Magick. Those that have mentors in the art will have an easy time, but don't be discouraged if you don't have guidance. If you have the leaning, you will eventually be able to lift the block._

Harry quickly turned the next few pages to check. Sure enough, they were all blank thereafter. He returned to read the instructions.

_As you may have guessed, the tome is restricted with a ward. This, though difficult to break for the average wizard, has been intentionally cast by a very weak spell. Your task is thus to raise enough wild magic to break the spell. Directing the flow at a specific object requires a lot of concentration and is in no way fit for beginners, so it will be enough for you to raise the power simply while touching the book. Closing the cover after you are done reading will automatically reactivate the broken ward._

_The most important fact one must know before attempting wild magic is that it has two forms; the inner (resides within the individual) and natural (environmental). Technically, it is possible for those who don't have the inner form to practice natural wild magic, however they would have no chance of understanding and guiding the force with enough precision without having their inner ability to rely on. This would make it dangerous for not only themselves, but everyone around them. What you are required to do is raise wild magic directly from your core._

_Yes, wild magic comes from within your core. Unlike what some have believed, wild magic is not a separate power inside us from regular magic. One either has wild magic or regular magic. Wild magic users for this reason usually have a hard time performing the regular spells wizards practice; they are just inclined a different way, and it is difficult for them to force their magic through channels it is not meant to be forced through. Others may not even notice this struggle they face though, (including themselves if they don't know what to look for), because wild magic is infinitely more powerful than it's regular counterpart, so the smallest of bursts released could mean a powerful spell taking form. Inner wild magic, when let out, will attract and mix with natural magic to some degree as well._

_And now for raising the inner wild magic; the first thing you are required to do is search out your core. You have to be able to feel the power within you for you to know what it is you should focus on. Finding the core should not be that difficult for those with the ability. Try grabbing a hold of your wand while concentrating on the moment the connection is made between your magic and it's conduit. Follow that feeling inside of you, study it carefully. That is the feeling of your magic and what you will be attempting to control. Concentrate long and hard - after a while you should be able to tell where the source is, where that mass of power is coming from._

_Once you familiarized yourself with your magic, the next step is to bring it to the surface. Unlike what you have been so far taught, one does not need spells and rituals to draw their magic out. You have to will it, and it will come. Do not hold it back, let it all flow through you, become one with you. Achieving this state is essential for learning how to wield the Olde Magicks properly in the future. Do this while holding on to the book, and if it is wild magic you have raised, the text will be unlocked._

_Good luck!_

Harry frowned, letting the book rest on his lap in a more comfortable way, and leaned his head back. He really hoped he had the ability to cast wild magic, otherwise this would turn out to be a lot of wasted effort. Although the signs describing the practitioners kind of fit him, the author also said this branch of magic was possibly extinct by now.

The instructions were maddening in their vaguness as well. It seemed like he was expected to aim for something covered in darkness, and the only way to succeed would be shoot blindly until he hit the target by accident. He wished he had someone he could ask to help, but even if he wasn't in hiding, chances of him locating a practitioner of the arts were slim as a thread, let alone convincing them to mentor him.

With no better idea forthcoming, Harry did as the book advised; tried touching his wand while concentrating on the feeling it gave him. Now, as you may have guessed, this turned out to be a far more difficult endeavor than the author made it out to be. First of all, the only time Harry had really felt the distinguishable effect his wand had on his power was the very first time they made a connection - namely, back at Ollivander's before his first year. Ever since then he hadn't payed much attention, happy knowing his wand worked for him, not attempting to study the bond between it and his magic further. It had never even occurred to him to do so.

Now as he kept touching and releasing the thin piece of wood repeatedly without success, he wished he had never let himself loose that feeling. Perhaps if he had remained more attentive when he had been younger this could have been a lot easier.

A good hour and a half later he was getting frustrated with the lack of progress. He could feel a spark of something, but he could never hold on to it for more than a moment. That was far from enough to actually "follow it and find his core". Why wasn't this working? Was he doing something wrong? Harry threw his wand aside in anger after the nth failed attempt. He grabbed the book and reread the passage to make sure he hadn't missed something important, but there was nothing helpful written there, so the next object to sail across the bed was the leather-bound tome.

He rolled over to lie on his stomach and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Getting angry about his failure wouldn't help him any. The only thing he could do was continue to try. A miraculous breakthrough would be helpful, however he also knew this would take time. Giving up after only two or so hours was very unlike him. It was just the nature of these starting steps that made continuing so hard. By sitting in place for hours on end, waiting to "feel" what he should, there was no visible progress. It was like Harry wasn't doing anything at all. He would much rather go and jump off a bridge or something ridiculous as that if that was another way of learning wild magic. Sitting on his behind all day long just wasn't turning out to be very conductive.

Harry rubbed his temples. His head had begun to hurt during the past ten minutes, making him even more irritable. As the ache was becoming worse, he decided to go and get a Pain Reliever from Kreatcher. The elf stashed the potions away, and Harry didn't want to go hunting for them. It was easier to simply request it.

He got to his feet and made it to the hallway before he collapsed against the wall, digging his fingers into his skull in pain. The throbbing had intensified, becoming an agonizing pulse behind his eyes. Harry couldn't open his lids. He just kept clutching his head as he slid to his knees, letting out a quiet moan.

"Kreatcher!" he croaked out. "Kreatcher!"

It took a few moments for the tell-tale pop to alert Harry to the house elf's presence.

"Master Harry?" A string of unintelligible muttering followed.

"Get me a Pain Reliever! Hurry please!" Harry gritted out.

Another pop announced the elf's hasty departure.

It couldn't have been more than a minute, but it seemed like an eternity to Harry, when he heard hasty footsteps approaching him. Finally! But-

Wait a second! Kreatcher hadn't been wearing shooes, as far as Harry could remember. And these steps were definitely much longer than a house elf's short legs could manage... In a panick, Harry forced an eye open to see what was happening, but before he could get a better view than a pair of dark calf-high boots, a renewed wave of pain made him fall forward, barely catching himself by stretching out one of his hands, the other unable to let go of the agonized spot.

A strong grip on his shoulder helped push him back up to a kneeling position.

"Young Master, Kreatcher brought the potions you said you would need." Harry heard. So the elf was there as well? And he only asked for one potion. But most importantly, why wasn't he reacting to the stranger in Grimmauld Place? Hadn't the elf noticed? What in Merlin's name was going on? However, Harry was in no position to voice these concerns. In fact, the pain was rapidly reaching a height where it took everything out of him to even stay conscious.

"Good." Came a raspy, deep voice. "It has began, it seems."

"Should Kreatcher take Master Harry to bed, Young Master?"

"Not necessary, I can manage. I want you to fetch some cold water and clean towels though. Hurry up!" the man snapped, and Harry flinched at the pop that followed the order. A large palm gently pried his cramped diggits away from his hair, and pulled him forward over a shoulder. The stranger stood up like that, lifting Harry inn a firemen's hold, carrying him to a bed where he carefully deposited his burden.

As soon as Harry felt the mattress beneath him, he curled up into a tight ball, his body wracked with tremors. A fire had ignited in his chest and stomach, the initial warmth slowly progressing to a steady burn. Cold sweat broke out on his skin. His insides were on fire, even his heart felt like it was made of hot iron.

"Ice! Give me ice!" he nearly screamed.

"Ssshh," the man hushed him, placing his hand upon the top of his head. "It will be over soon."

Followed by some rustling, the man rolled Harry to lie on his back. The boy whimpered, but he no longer had the energy to protest. Something cold was pressed to his lips.

"Drink." came the curt order.

Harry took a sip. It was some kind of a potion, and the taste was even more awful than he expected. He wanted to spit it out, but the bottle was forcefully held in his mouth, and so the next best thing was to swallow it sooner rather than later to get rid of it. When the vial was empty, the man finally pulled the flask away.

A new wave of heat hit Harry again, and he attempted to curl back up in his previous position. Only, he found that his limbs were no longer responding to the signals his brain sent them. He groaned and whimpered, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't move. The pain that wracked his body was getting so bad, he wanted to scratch and claw the source out, anything to be rid of it.

"I gave you some Muscle Relaxant. It would do you no good if you injured yourself while in this state."

Harry cracked open his eyes, squinting in the direction he heard the voice from. His glasses were no longer there - the man must have taken them at one point - so the best he could make out was a long mane of black hair and unkept beard covering the lower half of the stranger's face. He wanted to ask who he was, how it was possible for him to be at Grimmauld, but the words wouldn't form on his lips. The fire inside him was spreading, he now felt it in his whole body; his hands, his feet, even his skin. It was burning him alive.

"Shit!" he heard a mutter, but it was no longer possible for him to open his eyes. He was delirious from the pain, everything seemed disjointed and dreamlike except for the agony. Dark shapes danced in front of his minds eye, emerging from the raging orange flames and a different, second voice kept echoing in his ears, though he could not make out what it was saying.

"He's experiencing the burning! Kreatcher, fill the tub with ice at once!"

"Yes, Young Master!"

A pair of arms snaked around Harry's shoulders and the back of his knees. The man let out a small hiss before hefting the prone body up and running to his destination.

"Kreatcher has done as Young Master asked."

"Yes-yes, very good." he said impatiently, while lowering the body into the tub, not bothering to take off the clothes. "How could he let this happen?" the man murmured to himself as he carefully arranged Harry so the ice would cover him completely. "The boy has not yet completed the transformation, he could die from the burning right now! Such a careless... Argh! He is still human, for Merlin's sake!" He growled lowly. "As soon as I figure out who the bastard is, I'll roast him as a Yule-time turkey for this!"

Harry was hardly aware by now. He was unable to grasp any further conversations between Kreatcher and the man. The scorching flames continued to eat him alive for what seemed like an eternity. He felt his skin melting away, his bones turning to dust, and was aware throughout it all. He felt every second of it.

Finally, after what felt like hours - but may have been only moments - of suffering, the pain began to ebb, and he felt new flesh forming around him, a more resilient one, which shielded him from the raging flames. He soon had eyes, but he could not open them for some reason. He could hardly move at all, a thick substance around him making even the lifting of his head hard. The fire was finally gone, but he felt so weak. The last thing he could remember before waking up in his bed was a disturbing and familiar voice cooing at him from somewhere close by.

"Welcome back, my dear boy."


End file.
